


Liminal Spaces

by WilwyWaylan



Series: Enjoltaire Week [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Road Trip, all the gang is here, one-sided, or it is, some enjoltaire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-06
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2019-01-30 10:31:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12651819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WilwyWaylan/pseuds/WilwyWaylan
Summary: Reststops are weird places where strange things can happen.





	Liminal Spaces

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Enjoltaire Week 2016, Prompt : Liminal Space. I must admit that this one is my favourite.

It started as a good idea. Finals were over for everyone, they were in dire need of relaxing, getting some fresh air, and leave Paris for a few days. Even Enjolras, who seemed to thrive on city air and concrete, agreed. They decided on a destination, a cute little village in the south, not too far from Combeferre's home town, loaded two minivans with a mountain of bags, and launched themselves on the road. 

It went perfectly at first. They left on the evening, to avoid the usual rushes. It was still sunny but not too hot, the playlists were carefully chosen as not to annoy anyone (too much), they played little games and poked fun at each other. Everything radiated happiness and joy. 

After an hour, sadly, they started to get cranky. As new as the minivans were, they were still only this, minivans designed to carry normal-sized persons. Joly, Marius and Combeferre got carsick : Joly because he could get motion sickness on a swing, Marius because he was too far from a window, and Combeferre because he insisted to read while on the road. Bossuet slammed a door on his hand, and had to be patched up. Feuilly started to be sick too, because Bahorel's knees kicked his seat up each time he breathed or moved. The music was too loud or not enough. A bottle of water was spilled on some feet. And so on.

So of course, when a halt was proposed to buy junk food, drinks, and walk around a bit, everyone jumped on the occasion. As soon as they saw the neon signs of a rest stop, they pulled over. The squeak of the noise rang across the empty parking lot. The two minivans lined against the curb, briefly drawing four circles of yellow light on the old wall. Bahorel almost trampled Grantaire in his hast to get out, and had to be restrain before knocking Joly to the ground. 

One by one, they got down, stepped on the cracked pavement, and streched. And streched again. Being stuck for hours in a minivan that didn't have enough space to comfortably set one's legs, especially when one was particulary tall (Bahorel) or 60% legs (Jehan) was quite harsh on the body. Courfeyrac first rushed towards the 24-hours store and cafeteria, looking for any coffee, even bad. 

Grantaire watched the others followed en masse, as usual. He wasn't in a hurry to get some awful rest stop coffee, and after being stuck in a metal box for two hours next to Jehan and Montparnasse being horribly cute with each other, he really wanted a bit of space. Especially since Jehan's too tall frame always had pointy elbows sticking out in his ribs.

He lighted a cigarette, and was walking around aimlessly, when someone tapped on his shoulder. Combeferre looked remarkably fresh and healthy for someone who, according to Eponine who kept texting from the other car, had been threatening non-stop to throw up during the last two hours. 

\- Can you keep an eye on Enjolras, please ? He asked. He's not feeling very well.

\- Not feeling very well ? Grantaire answererd, trying not to sound too worried. Is he ill ? 

\- Just a bit sick. He didn't want to put his phone down. You know him and his news...

That's rich coming from you, Mr Bookworm, Grantaire thought, but charitably decided not to mention it.

\- Sure. I'll check on him. Bring me some coffee, will you ?

Combeferre nodded and left, probably to find his boyfriend again. Now that he thought about it, Grantaire hadn't seen Enjolras' blond curls among the rest of the group. And he prided himself of always being aware of where their leader was. Not that it was something to take pride in, but... He finished his cigarette, then went to the other car. 

Enjolras was here, apparently asleep. Now that he had more space, he had taken his shoes off and put his feet on the seat, curling up on himself. He was leaning on the window, his head cushionned by something which, by the light of the lamppost, looked black. Probably a blanket he found somewhere. Except that, looking closely, that blanket had streaks of paint on it. The same that adorned Grantaire's sleeves. How did Enjolras put his hands on his hoodie ? And why was he using it as a pillow ? Usually, he didn't have anything but light annoyance (at worst) or vague curiosity (at best) for anything Grantaire owned, was or did. Granted, the hoodie was lended to Eponine because she was cold earlier, but still...

Grantaire knew he shouldn't stare, but he couldn't help. Enjolras sleeping was quite... cute. Not terribly beautiful like when he was awake, jaw set and eyes burning with passion and fury. Just... adorably cute. Like a sleeping kitten or something. There was something in the curve of his neck, the way his hair curled around his face, just lined in gold, the darker shadows of his lashes, that made him want to draw him like that. Instead, he picked up a discared plaid and wrapped himself in it to keep warm. He then went to sit on the hood of the car, lighted another cigarette, and blew a puff of smoke in the cool air.

He didn't know how long he stayed like that. Even with the highway near, everything was so quiet, so silent. He vaguely heard some noises that could have been the voices of his friends, far, far away, barely a murmur above the whispers of the wind. He could have remained like that for ever, watching the stars shine. Maybe, if he kept very, very still, like this, the world would stop spinning, and he would stay there, on that hood, with the night sky over him like an giant blanket, the reassuring presence of his friends somewhere behind him, and knowing that Enjolras was near, queitly sleeping. 

There was a rustle, behind him, and he was half-tempted to look. But it would have meant breaking the spell. Before he could decide, Enjolras came to sit beside him. He rubbed his eyes, still half-asleep. And from Grantaire's point of view, still unbearablely cute. And unbearablely near too. Grantaire wasn't used to have their fearless leader so close to him. Usually, there was at least two meters between them, enough to safely throw a mocking remark or a cold glare. But now... Now Enjolras was sitting beside him, and he could almost feel the heat radiating from his leg. It felt... nice. And terrifying at the same time. And he didn't dare moving, in fear of alerting him of their closeness. 

Enjolras looked at him, and he waited for a comment on his smoking, or maybe a question about the whereabouts of their friends. Instead, Enjolras looked at the balled hoodie he was still holding against him, then at Grantaire again, and apologized :

\- I'm sorry, I took your hoodie.

\- It's okay, Grantaire said as flippantly as he could. I didn't need it anyway. 

There would be the scathing remark, about the blanket he was wearing, and why was he lying about this, did he really need to ? But no remark. No accusation. The hoodie was simply deposited - not thrown, deposited - on his lap. Grantaire's heart made a small jump. It was still warm, and maybe, if he held it to his face, it would smell a bit of Enjolras ? Of Enjolras and him... He tried not to dwell too much on this, lest he started getting ideas, ideas that one shouldn't get when sitting besides someone they weren't even sure saw them as a friend. He focused on the stars instead.

They sat like that in silence. A amicable silence, friendly, almost comfortable, if one could except Grantaire's heart beating wild. He didn't want to think about anything too much, just enjoy the situation. Being there, sitting in silence with Enjolras, without any arguing or critisism, it was already more than he could have ever wanted. If only it could last forever.... But the others would be there soon, they would get back in the cars, and that moment would be over, probably forever. Maybe there was a secret spell, to keep it like that a little bit longer ?

Enjolras moved beside him, his leg brushing against Grantaire's, sending the latter's brain into overload. The artist made a good job of not jumping from the hood in surprise. Above the blood rushing in his ears, he heard Enjolras say something, and had to force himself to concentrate on the words.

\- It's so quiet...

\- There's nothing quieter than a rest stop in the middle of the night.

Enjolras shot him a unconvinced look.

\- I swear it's true, Grantaire insisted. Combeferre will tell you the same. He'll tell you they are liminal spaces, where everything can happen.

\- Everything ?

\- Everything. Magic, supernatural events, you name it.

The answer seemed to send Enjolras into a long reflexion, that Grantaire took advantage to discreetly look at his profile in the changing lights of the cars passing before them, white and red and white again, then pulled into darkness, a single line of gold tracing the edge of his nose and the curve of his lips. No, he really, really never wanted this to end.

Finally, Enjolras broke the silence again.

\- Everything can happen, you say.

\- That's what I...

He was cut when Enjolras grabbed the edge of the blanket, and pulled him forwards. Their lips met, quite abruptly. It was a clumsy kiss. Grantaire prided himself in being a great kisser, but Enjolras... was not. Not too bad though, he was rather enthusiastic, and at least didn't knock their teeth together. And it was Enjolras. Enjolras who Grantaire had dreamed of kissing one day, starting five minutes after meeting him. Maybe that was a weird dream, but if it was, then he would make the best fucking dream he ever had. And then he kissed back, with all he had. Enjolras tensed at first, then left him all the control. Grantaire slid his hands in the blond curls, bringing the leader closer, and was rewarded when the other melted against him. 

Soon, too soon, they parted. Grantaire would have given anything to kiss him again, to get another taste of that heaven too quickly gone, to hold him like that until the end of times. But voices were growing closer, indicating that, whatever that weird liminal magic was, it was gone by now. Enjolras got down from the hood, but there was a hint of regret in his moves. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking from Grantaire's part. He would have said something, maybe just to make sure that he didn't imagine everything. But Courfeyrac was skipping in their direction, Marius on his heels and Cosette on Marius', close enough now that he would hear whatever would be said. But what happened just now was Grantaire's and Enjolras' only, and the artist didn't want to share it with anyone. Not yet. Maybe later, when he would have time to think about it, and either be sure it wasn't a dream, or convince himself that it was. 

He streched, listening to the pops of his vertebrae. The green hoodie was still in his lap, and he put it on, delighting in the last traces of Enjolras' warmth, and the very slight smell of coffee and ink mixed with his own. Or maybe he was just imagining, he didn't really know. He set foot on the ground, and was immediatly caught in a bear hug, courtesy of Bahorel. Joly was bouncing near them, excitedly repeating Bossuet's last pun, said Bossuet grinning behind him from ear to ear. And above that sudden whirlwind of agitation, Enjolras was looking at him through the steam of his coffee cup. When their eyes met, he sent him a little smile. And Grantaire knew that, liminal magic or not, what had just happened was very much real. And maybe tomorrow, it would still be.


End file.
